


Soap and Skin

by samescenes



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Banter, Domestic, Established Relationship, IT'S SO FLUFFY!!!!!, M/M, i'm sorry for the werewolf aficionados amongst you because it's pretty light on that front
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10060142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samescenes/pseuds/samescenes
Summary: Brad comes home from Iraq smelling like desert air, rotting feet, old blood and ball sweat. Ray will not let this stand.





	

Brad always smells fucking disgusting when he comes back from deployment. Like desert air, rotting feet, old blood and ball sweat, all locked in a rusting oil drum and left to ferment for several weeks. It’s not too far from the actual truth, and Ray knows to expect it, but it almost knocks him backward a step, every time.

When Brad sees Ray’s face, he grins ruefully. “I can’t even smell it anymore,” he says. When he swings his duffle off his shoulder to let it thump at their feet, the stench of old underwear wafts up Ray’s nose. Yes, he has missed being a Recon Marine.

“I hope you’re not planning on touching me,” Ray says. “It’s bad enough I’m going to get in the car with you.”

Brad rolls his eyes. “Roll the windows down.”

“Damn right I will,” Ray bitches. He leans down to pick up the duffle, holding it away from his body. “And you’ll be sitting on a towel, motherfucker, I’m not getting the stench of twenty Marines all over my seats.”

“I’m so glad this is what I get to come home to,” Brad says. He starts walking past Ray, out of the airport, and Ray has to scramble to keep up with Brad’s freakishly long legs.

***

As soon as they get to Brad’s house, Ray dumps the contents of the duffle in the washing machine, overloading on washing powder. He’ll wash them a second time anyway.

“Do you want something to eat?” Ray calls. “I’ll make you something while you’re in the shower.”

Brad appears in the laundry doorway in just the trousers of his service uniform, holding his jacket, undershirt and socks in his hands. Ray lifts the lid of the washing machine, and Brad chucks everything in, then shucks the trousers and adds them to the foul-smelling mess.

“We ate on the plane, so just a sandwich’ll be fine,” Brad says. Before Ray can react, Brad grabs Ray’s head, ducking it so Brad can press a hard, playful kiss to Ray’s hair.

Ray squarks. “Gross!” he moans, batting Brad away. “I’m contaminated.”

Brad’s laugh floats down the hallway, fading into soft sniggers as the shower starts running.

***

Brad’s been in the shower about thirty minutes when Ray hops in. He figures that’s enough time to get the worst of it off.

“Hey,” Brad says, turning. There are bubbles following the cascade of water, over Brad’s clavicle, down his pecs, catching in his pubic hair, down Brad’s strong, pale thighs and into the drain.

“Hey,” Ray says. Brad holds out his arms and Ray steps into them. Water drips from Brad’s chin into Ray’s face, but Ray just closes his eyes.

“Better now?” Brad says.

“I hate it when you come home, smelling like two hundred strangers and recycled air,” Ray says.

Brad hums, his chest vibrating against Ray’s cheek. “Do you want me to wash your hair?” he says.

“I surely do, you marshmellow motherfucker,” Ray says, drawing back and grinning. Brad just smiles and shakes his head, turning Ray by the shoulders so Ray’s back is to Brad’s chest. The house is a modern one, the owners renovated it a couple of years ago, and the shower is large and open-plan, the tiled kind without glass doors, and it’s big enough for the both of them to stand out of the spray while Brad rubs shampoo onto Ray’s head. Ray laughs when Brad starts to mould a mohawk.

“Just like when I was in my band,” Ray says, smiling.

“Yeah, too many dicks and too poor to buy your own alcohol,” Brad says.

“Offense!” Ray says. “There is no such thing as too many dicks.”

“Is that why you sucked so much cock while I was gone?” Brad pushes Ray’s head under the shower spray, running his hands over Ray’s hair to sweep it back.

“I could have, you don’t know,” Ray says when he emerges. “There could have been all number of people wanting to get up on this.” His head falls forward on his neck, moaning a little as Brad starts to massage conditioner over his scalp.

“I applaud your self-restraint,” Brad says.

“All I want is some acknowledgement,” Ray says, sounding half a world away. When the conditioner has washed out, Ray turns back around, fairly collapsing back into Brad, who lets out a complaining sort of noise. He holds Ray's weight with his arms looped around Ray's waist, and like this, Ray can hear the double-thump of Brad's heart in his chest.

“Now sex?” Brad suggests.

Ray grunts in affirmative. “But I made you a roast beef sandwich, so you’ve got to fucking eat that first.”

Brad reaches around Ray to turn off the tap.

***

Brad ends up eating his sandwich over the kitchen sink, naked, Ray plastered against Brad’s back, his hands around his waist. Ray’s head rests between his shoulderblades. Brad’s spare hand rubs over Ray’s joined ones.

“You’re starting to smell better now,” Ray murmurs.

***

Ray’s hair is still damp when they go to bed, so Brad snags a towel from where they dumped them on the floor. He pulls Ray on top of him when they fall onto the mattress, groaning when his head bounces against the pillow.

“The sheets smell like you,” Brad says.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Ray says, to which Brad rolls his eyes and flicks a finger against Ray’s nose. Usually, because their sense of smell is so sensitive, they have to wash the bedding every couple of days otherwise they start to feel like they’re living in their own stink, but Ray hasn’t washed the sheets in a week, easy.

Brad manipulates Ray’s body until he’s lying exactly the way Brad wants him: on top of Brad, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and cock everywhere, but they sort it out soon enough, with Ray’s toes rubbing Brad’s, his head resting in the crook of Brad’s neck. It’s a pretty easy reach for Brad to bring the towel up and start rubbing it over Ray’s wet hair.

If there were a wolf equivalent of purring, Ray would be embarrassed about the sounds he would be making. As it is, Ray groans, letting his limbs go lax. He feels relaxed for the first time in months.

Brad keeps going until Ray feel dopey with it, indolent and loose. When Brad lets the towel fall over the side of the bed, Ray tilts his head up, just slightly, to meet Brad in a kiss. For a welcome home kiss, it’s disgustingly sweet, slow and steady until Ray sighs, opening his mouth for Brad’s tongue. When they pull apart, Brad’s looking down at Ray, grinning.

“You look like Sid Vicious,” Brad says, laughing.

“Shut up,” Ray grumbles, shifting so he can try and flatten his hair, while Brad flinches and makes high-pitched noises about Ray’s elbows. When they settle, Ray’s hands are linked over Brad’s chest, his chin resting on top.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Ray says. “I missed you, motherfucker.”

“I hate to say it, but I did spare a few thoughts in between crippling retardese for this place.” When Ray raises an eyebrow, Brad adds, “And you.”

“So sweet of you to say, Bradley, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then Brad starts saying something about a retard grunt, then a retard CO, then his eyes close and his sentence ends in the middle. Ray nudges him.

“Nap?” he says.

“Nap,” Brad agrees.

“Do you want me to move?”

Brad takes one of Ray’s hands, interlocking their fingers. Ray drifts off to sleep, just like that, the scent of Brad surrounding him, a hand rubbing up and down his back.

***

When Ray wakes up, he’s shifted on his side, bracketed around Brad like a closed parenthesis. His head’s on Brad’s shoulder, one hand on Brad’s stomach, and one leg trapped in between Brad’s. He’s lying on his other arm, and it’s gone completely numb. He wriggles, trying to move onto his stomach, but Brad inhales like he’s been shocked, and his eyes open.

“Did I wake you?” Ray says.

“It’s all right,” Brad says. “I’m just. Adjusting.”

Ray knows what he means: the wolf doesn’t like a change in environment, even if it does smell like home.

“Let’s see what we can do to speed up the process, huh?” Ray wriggles his eyebrows, lewd, and Brad laughs, trailing off into a groan.

“Oh, so _now_ sex,” Brad says.

“Hey, I’m not the one who fell asleep.” 

Brad rolls his eyes and mutters something about Ray’s charms under his breath.

Ray says, “Full offense. I don’t have to take this constantly maligning of my character, Bradley, I’ll have you know-”

Ray’s cut off by Brad’s mouth. Brad presses against Ray for a good ten seconds where neither of them breathe, and when Brad flops back down against the pillow, both their mouths are shiny. Ray's lips already feel tender. 

“Know what?” Brad says.

“I don’t mind taking my considerable talents elsewhere,” Ray says, breath hitching when Brad rolls them over so Ray’s on his back and Brad’s above him, reaching for his cock. “And - and you’ll just have to-” here, Brad swipes his thumb under where the shaft of his dick meets the head “-live with the knowledge...”

Ray trails off, his head arching back into the pillow, groaning at a hard pass of Brad’s fist over his cock.

“Live with the knowledge...” Brad prompts.

“That, uh, you lost the best thing you ever had,” Ray finishes weakly, chest quickening as he starts to feel his heart battering the inside of his ribcage. Brad’s set a slow, firm pace, and their eyes meet as Ray slumps back into the pillow.

“And we can’t have that,” Brad says, smiling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Complete disaster,” Ray agrees. He can’t stop the little gasp that tumbles out after, his stomach twitching as Brad does something clever with his hand.

“Ray?” Brad says.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ray says agreeably, reaching up so he can pull Brad down.

***

Afterwards, when their breathing has evened out and they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other, Brad asks, “Better?”

“Mostly,” Ray says. 

“Do you want me to get back in the shower?”

“No,” Ray says. Ray can still smell the desert under Brad’s fingernails, between his toes, and in weird places like behind his knees, but Ray’s the dominant smell now. He came once in Brad’s hand, messily, and wiped it all over Brad’s stomach and into his pubic hair, and then he came again, fucking Brad, and it makes something in him rumble satisfactorily to know Brad smells like him inside and out.

“How about a run later?”

“Yeah,” Ray says. That ought to do it; the salt air, more sweat, old clothes that have never touched gun oil. “Tomorrow, we should go to the lake.” There’s a lake a few hours north, where the trees start to grow thicker and taller, and the terrain more mountainous. It would be remote for a normal hiker, but not for a pair of wolves. A couple hours running around naked and furry would do them both good.

Brad makes an agreeing noise in the back of this throat; his eyes are drooping. When they finally close, Ray leans forward to touch his lips to the center of Brad’s forehead.

“You’re disgusting,” Brad says, but gropes for Ray’s hand, trapped between them.

“Go to sleep,” Ray says around the knot in his throat.

“I’m fucking trying,” Brad mumbles, and then he’s gone.


End file.
